


Addicted

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Kane (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-22
Updated: 2010-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris touches Steve a lot. Until Steve remarks on the touching. Then Chris stops touching. Until he realizes he has to touch Steve. Once Chris resumes the touching all is right with both their worlds again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addicted

**Author's Note:**

> All those youtube videos of Chris pretty much eating Steve up on stage led to this...:)

"Why do you do it?"

"Wha-?"

They're sitting on the sofa in the so-called dressing room at the back of the club, taking turns gulping the last of the Jack. It takes a while to wind down from performing. Especially for Chris. He literally gets high from it, from the energy, the music, the audience. Crashing can be hell. Like now, when he's drinking more than his share to kill that need to get back up on stage when no one's around any longer to cheer him on.

"Touch me on stage? You didn't use to," Steve says hoarsely, and, damn, the sound of his voice all rough and soft makes something itch under his skin.

"What the hell ya talkin' 'bout?" He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the sofa. For some reason he feels restless, like he needs to do something, go somewhere. He needs...He just needs. Period. His leg shakes, bouncing up and down so much it makes the sofa cushion tremble like an earthquake.

"Chris..."

"Steve...," he counters, straightening his head to look into Steve's eyes. "Just tell me, darlin'."

And that? Right there? He has no idea when it started. He's been using that endearment with the man pretty much since the beginning of their friendship. But at the moment, with his eyebrows furrowed enough to cause wrinkles along his forehead, all he can think about is how fitting the word is. Before he notices what he's doing his fingers reach out to tenderly smooth the wrinkles away.

Steve sighs. Chris wonders if the action is unwanted until a small smile flits across his face. "You're doing it right now." Chris must seem confused because he clarifies. "Touching me like you do on stage. If you're not slapping my ass you're plastered to my back or putting your arm around me. Or you're staring at me like you want to be touching me. You do it like you can't help yourself, Chris. And I was just wondering why."

Huh...Chris didn't realize he did that. Does that. He pulls his hand away quickly, feeling ashamed and rejected.

Steve catches his hand, rubbing lightly at the thin skin on his wrist. "I didn't say I don't like it. I just..." He takes a breath, then finishes with, "I'm already about this close," he holds up his other hand, index finger and thumb an inch apart in indication, "to falling in love with you so if you don't-. I mean if this is just a fucked up way of expressing your platonic, bro-mantic feelings for me I would suggest toning it down. You understand what I'm saying?"

Chris inwardly groans. "Yeah, man. I get it. No more touching."

"Chris, no. I-."

But he doesn't give him to a chance to explain any further before he gets up and leaves Steve and the club behind. The restlessness has gotten worse, has turned into an urge to get rip-roaring drunk and spectacularly laid in order to forget the whole conversation. He ends up at a bar down the street, sitting next to a person he's pretty sure is a woman, and strikes up a conversation. Fifteen minutes later they're heading back to her place. An hour later he finds out that, yes, she is of the female persuasion, and she's just as hungry to lose herself in a stranger as he is. And if they both are thinking of someone else during their time together, neither is willing to admit it.

Four gigs later Chris is in a foul mood. Because it turns out that not touching Steve while on stage, while doing anything really, is like not breathing. It's fuckin' hard as hell, and who knew he was so addicted?! He's so used to being close, to inhaling his sweat and his cologne and that particular saltysandyearthy Steve scent that not being able to smell it makes him miss it. The blond musician felt good. It's that simple. He always just felt good. Until now. Chris would howl on stage if he could get away with it. Well, he probably could, being an actor and all. But more than anything he wants to touch him again. And how exactly is he supposed to explain that?

"You're growling," Steve reminds him right before their encore in Lexington, Kentucky.

Chris doesn't remember what the name of the venue is, doesn't remember if they've been there before. He can't even say in all honesty if he's been working the crowd like he usually does. What he does know is Steve is entirely too far away. And yes, he's growling. A little. Quietly. Desperately. Steve winks, strums the first few chords of a song that Chris isn't paying attention to, and throws his head back.

Oh. Oh..... Chris kinda gets it now. Because he's staring at his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. A bomb goes off in his gut, spreading searing heat into his limbs. Yeah, he gets it. When he steps over to him, licking a line up the skin, causing and rejoicing in the shiver that follows, he grins. Not caring if anyone can see them or not, he crowds behind him, sighing when Steve rests against his chest, his pelvis cradling Steve's ass.

He drops his head onto Steve's shoulder, content to be back where he belongs. With his man. "Later I'll sing for you in private..." Steve laughs. The sound is a rasp that hits him hard. He automatically presses closer, making sure Steve knows he means it from the thick throbbing in his crotch.

"You do realize the mics are picking up what you're saying. And the audience can see pretty much everything." But he doesn't pull away, for which Chris is grateful. There's nothing sexier than a playing, singing, rockin’ out Steve.

Chris finally backs up to move beside him. He winks right before opening his mouth to sing the verse.


End file.
